


Sunlight Breaking Through the Clouds

by FireEye



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 10:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19766473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/pseuds/FireEye
Summary: Locke rather accidentally drops in on Sabin during a snowstorm.





	Sunlight Breaking Through the Clouds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flonnebonne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flonnebonne/gifts).



His throat was sore.

There was a pungent aroma of herbs, mingled with an autumn’s layer of dust. Sunlight seeped though the cracks in the shuttered windows. A cheerful fire burned in the fireplace, and enough heavy wool blankets had been piled upon him that it felt constricting and harder for him to breathe, yet he still felt the cold deep into his bones.

The door creaked open, and a draft of winter air whispered into the cabin, dancing with the fire to cast leaping shadows on the wall.

The man who had entered stomped the snow off his boots, and shook out a bearskin cloak. The latter he threw out to dry by the fire.

Locke closed his eyes.

There was the scraping of a chair being dragged across the floor, and it creaking under the weight of someone settling into it.

“I know you’re awake.”

All of the air in Locke’s lungs escaped in a harsh, abrasive huff. Since there was nothing in denying it, he draped his arm over his face.

Of everything he might have expected, he hadn’t been expecting _that_ familiar voice, less tinged with amusement.

Sabin’s voice was deeper than Edgar’s. It hadn’t always been that way, and despite the years apart they hit a lot of the same cadence and inflection. Even if, living in self-imposed exile, Sabin was colloquially rougher and to the point.

If he were being honest, Locke at times preferred it that way. Edgar could put on airs like nobody’s business, and although it was mostly a feint derived from high expectations, there was something to be said for the more down-to-earth approach.

“The Sabil Mountains are treacherous in winter. A guy’s gotta be crazy... or despondent, to try to make it over Mount Koltz in a blizzard.”

Locke groaned in agreement.

***

Almost in spite of himself, Locke recovered quickly. Strength returned to his limbs, and his stamina recovered. His voice was last to return, but Sabin was content to do most of the talking until it did. And after – as Locke’s sullen mood didn’t seem about to lift any sooner than the midwinter stormclouds outside.

For the lost Prince of Figaro, life went on as usual; he simply had a houseguest to share his meals with.

“I have to get to Doma.”

Sabin’s movements slowed as he ate. Locke hadn’t been forthcoming with the details that had left him stranded. Voice quiet, he was staring into the hearth fire, his hands wrapped loosely around the warm teacup that tipped between them. It was dangerously close to spilling over.

His expression already telegraphed the question, but Sabin finished chewing and swallowed before asking it. “...you couldn’t have hopped a boat from South Figaro or something; you had to do it the hard way?”

“No.”

Sabin didn’t press him. Although his body language was relaxed, there was only so much you could get out of Locke if he didn’t want to share.

At length, he added, “Figaro and Doma aren’t on the best of terms right now.”

Sabin’s eyebrows drew together, and he lifted his head to peer over the rim of his bowl. He set the bowl down, along with his utensils.

“That’s new. What brought it on?”

There was another pause. Not as long as the last. Then Locke sighed, sinking a little deeper against the table.

“The Empire crushed Tzen.”

Resting an elbow on the table, Sabin scratched his chin. Maybe the isolation had gotten to him at last; this was heavy news at the dinner table, and hard to take in.

“That’s a shame. Tzen had a lot of history,” he said. “I don’t see what that has to do with Figaro.”

“Edgar’s taking it personally. He, uh... he _tried_ to intercede by proposing to the daughter of the royal family. Legitimizing their rule, I guess... or whatever. I think it only made the Empire more determined.”

As Sabin listened, his hand crept gradually further up until he was rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. He shook his head.

“And Doma took exception to this, because...?”

“Doma took exception to the fact that the Empire and Figaro now have an alliance. They’ve closed themselves off from it all.”

Sabin stared. “You’re joking.”

It was a thread of hope and nothing else. Nothing in Locke’s demeanor suggested anything of the sort, and his voice grew quiet.

“Edgar thinks playing along will protect Figaro.”

“I’m sure it will. Right up until the Emperor decides that Figaro makes for a better conquest than an independent kingdom.”

“Rumor is, the Empire has some kind of new weapons tech. He’s buying time.”

In the pause that followed, Sabin pulled his bowl closer to him again and picked it up. Locke grimaced, and admitted, “I know what he’s doing; it doesn’t make it easier to swallow.”

“Well, if you’re going to Doma, you’re gonna need your strength to get there, so you better start eating.”

***

The weather had thawed, and they stood together overlooking the world below. Having loaded Locke up on supplies, Sabin accompanied him as far as to the path led into the valley on the other side of the pass. But this was as far as Sabin went, and both of them knew it.

“Thanks,” Locke said, simply.

He meant it. Sabin knew he did. But there was a lingering melancholy in his expression, one that hadn’t been there when Sabin had known him before.

Locke adjusted the straps to his backpack to lie flat where they rested on his shoulders. He glanced up, startled, when Sabin reached out to him on a whim.

Wordlessly, Sabin held out his arms in invitation. Locke hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment, before accepting the hug.

He lingered for several longer, and some of the tension in his muscles eased if only by a touch.

Sabin had never in his life cared for the underhanded politics of the warring states. But if he could shoulder the weight of the world for a few moments, that he’d do gladly.

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to somehow work in that Sabin's doing this hermit thing for Reasons involving his being a monk and all that. And failed. But yeah, anyway: Locke and Sabin for you. :)


End file.
